Repression
by short and simple
Summary: AU. "She's so miserable and she doesn't even know why." Because no matter how hard you try to repress those painful unwanted memories, the feeling never really goes away. One-shot.


|** r** e** p** r **e** s **s** i **o **n |

**—**

She doesn't know why, but for whatever reason, she can't seem to stop crying. One minute she would be fine and the next thing she knows, a few drops of tears are rolling down her cheeks and she doesn't even realize it until someone points it out to her. She wipes the tears with her hand and stares curiously at it for a moment, and then she laughs it off and blames it on allergies. She ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and the pull on her heart.

|** r** |

It seems like everyone was avoiding her. Whenever she would try to talk to one of her schoolmates, they would simply look down and stare at their shoes instead of her eyes. Her eyes are filled with a mixture of inquiry and also a hint of sadness. No one, not even her teachers dared to look her in the eye, always avoiding any form of contact with her.

|** e** |

She finds it weird that her best friends Macey and Bex weren't bickering like usual. Even Liz seemed quieter than she already was. She shoots them questioning looks, but they just smile sadly and take her hand, giving it a little squeeze.

| **p** |

Her friends weren't the only ones acting unusual. Her parents wouldn't leave her alone. Their conversation usually went with:

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Yes. For the last time, I'M FINE."

It's all quiet after that. They would leave her alone after a few minutes, but not before staring at her strangely. She stared back with unblinking eyes.

She lied.

For some unfathomable reason, she didn't feel fine.

|** r** |

Some nights, she would climb out onto the balcony of her room and seat herself in a chair, drinking a cup of hot cocoa with a blanket loosely wrapped around her shoulders, wishing so desperately that her boyfriend Zach would come down from his college and visit her.

She stares out into the night, her blue eyes fixated on the streetlights, longing for the one person who would be able to cheer her up. She felt so lonely without him. Everyone was beginning to get on her nerves, and frankly, she was so sick and tired of it.

"Zach…" she would whisper, as if he would hear it from a distance so far.

Then she would start crying because she misses him so damn much, and he's not even here to comfort her. She starts thinking about all the times they would climb out onto her balcony and dance even though there was no music. They didn't need music, because all they really needed was each other.

And at the thought of that, she begins crying even harder.

| **e** |

"Should we tell her?" Matthew Morgan whispers to his wife as they watch their daughter from the kitchen, lying on the couch, her eyes glued to the small book she was holding.

Rachel Morgan abruptly shakes her head. "No. She'll be devastated."

He sighs. "She deserves to know."

"I know I just—I just don't want her to be more depressed than she already is." Rachel closes her eyes and leans against the counter, her palms placed on the counter behind her, holding her weight. "She's so miserable and she doesn't even know why."

Matthew wraps his arms around Rachel and places a tender kiss on her forehead. "She has a right to know Rachel. She needs to remember what happened that night."

Rachel opens her eyes again and sinks deeper into her husband's arms. "I know." She mutters into his chest.

And as they turn away from their daughter, they don't see that she's not reading anymore, but staring at them while she wonders what they meant by 'that night' and 'she needs to remember'. Her parents don't know she stopped reading long ago, and instead was listening to their discussion from the very start. They don't know she heard every word.

| **s** |

"Why do I need to go see a therapist?" She asks in exasperation. It's not the first time she asks this question.

"You're unhappy, Cammie. You deserve to be happy." This also isn't the first time her mother had to answer.

She's still confused, but wisely chooses to relent and get in the car without any difficulty. Leaning on her side, she stares out the window as she pretends not to hear the small sobs coming from the passenger seat. Instead she closes her eyes and furrows her eyebrows as she tries to figure out what could have been so drastic for her parents to seek for professional help. She figures it probably had something to do with 'that night', as her parents had referred to.

|** s** |

Her therapist was a man named Dr. Steve Sanders. She thought he was a very eccentric, peculiar and odd man. He had a round, reddish face and a bright, wide smile. Needless to say, she was a little bit weary.

It had been about two weeks since she started seeing Dr. Steve Sanders. She thought the whole thing was pointless seeing as how she hadn't gotten any better.

Every time she came back from their sessions, her parents were outside in the parking lot, waiting for her. She'd get in and they would ask how things went. The conversation usually went like this:

"How was it?" her dad would ask.

And she'd reply with, "Fine."

Then, he responds with a, "Is that so?"

"I guess…"

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah."

Cue the silence.

"So…how's Dr. Steve's treating you?"

She shrugs, "He's okay. A little weird, but overall, he's okay."

"How so?"

"He keeps asking me strange questions."

"Would you like to elaborate on that?"

"Well uh, he keeps asking me about my birthday."

Then her parents would share a look with each other, one that did not go unnoticed by her. They don't say much after that. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember what happened on that particular day. All her attempts went in vain, for she could not remember anything from that night. She would think real hard until she got a headache, but still she only had come up with blanks.

|** i** |

"I think she's ready to see him." Dr. Steve says softly, trying to lower his voice as much as possible so the girl inside the room couldn't hear.

Her parents looked at him with doubt. "Are you sure?"

Dr. Steve smiles sadly and nods in certainty, "I'm sure."

|** o** |

She stares at the tombstone with her mouth opened ajar. She bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming out in agony. There's this sick feeling in her stomach. She turns away just as the bile comes up and hurls all over the ground of the graveyard.

She remembers.

She remembers that night.

| **n** |

She's kind of just sitting there, staring at the box sitting on the middle of her bed. It's still closed and wrapped nice and neatly with Happy Birthday written all over the bright purple wrapping paper. With shaking and trembling hands, she takes the box and carefully tears the beautiful wrapping paper off.

She lifts the lid off the box and takes out the gift.

The last gift she'll ever get from him.

She lays it out on the bed in front of her and gazes at it. It was a framed painting in which he drew of her. One which was made up of oil pastels and it's just so horribly drawn and so damn lovely that she cries and laughs at the same time, tightly hugging the painting to her chest. She releases it and turns the painting around, surprisingly finding a message addressed to her.

She chuckles at the use of her old nickname and begins to read.

_**Dear Gallagher Girl,**_

_**I know this isn't much and you probably expected a lot more, but I decided that I wasn't going to bullshit you and give you something meaningless, because you deserve a lot more than that. **_

_**They say everyone has their own way of expressing themselves. Well, this is me trying to express myself to you. **_

_**I used to believe dreams would always be infinitely better than reality. But, here's the thing— you're not a dream. You're my reality and you are so much better than all of the things I can ever dream of combined. **_

_**I hope you believe me when I say this Cameron Ann Morgan, but I am in love with you and I'm so fucking lucky to have found you.**_

_**-Z**_

_Don't worry, Zach, _she thinks to herself, _I believe you._

* * *

><p><em><strong>fin.<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Am I corny or what? Anyways, so, I was watching a How I Met Your Mother episode and it kind of gave me the idea to write this. Hope you all liked it. Reviews are most appreciated!<strong>


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